All right, Winter, you win. You are bigger, faster, and stronger than me. Now that you’ve made your point, would you please give it a rest?
If I say “uncle” will you quit?
Uncle.
Uncle.
Uncle.
Why aren’t you listening? Why are you being so mean? And why did you let the snow swallow our picnic table? Do you know what you’ve done?
On nasty winter days I like to look out the kitchen window and see the picnic table standing sentry beside the big, brick grill. Its presence is a promise of warm weather, shish kabobs and s’mores. Seeing it there, so resolute and solid, carries me through the darkest, coldest winter days. But thanks to you’re high-handed ways it’s gone, buried under snow drifts that wore out their welcome over a month ago.
Did your best bud, the White Witch of Narnia, teach you to be so cruel? You know, if you would just go to fantasyland and hang out with her there, people would like you again. You’d get a steady stream of people reading books about winter on hot summer days when the air conditioning doesn’t work. You’d be popular again.
Tell you what, Winter, you sleep on it overnight. Think about how nice it would feel to have people like you again. And in the morning, when the sun rises, chant this little ditty about ten thousand times.
“I’m melting, melting, melting. You wicked, wicked girl.”
Not a quote from your buddy, the White Witch, but something said by a close friend of hers who lives somewhere over the rainbow.
Give it a try. See what you think. And then go away.
Please.
